


Unrest

by wooahae



Category: SEVENTEEN (Band)
Genre: Honestly?, Seventeen - Freeform, Short Story, also this is like super unedited so whatever, but like okay, can u tell i'm super frustrated in general, do not question my sleep deprived brain, i need to sleep, i really need to stop writing in the middle of the night, idk if u can call it a short story, idk why i wrote this, its fine, jihoon needs rest oof, or dont, petition to drug my sleep deprived to sleep, this does not make sense so have fun trying to make head or tail of it, this was written in the middle of the night, too short
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-07
Updated: 2021-03-07
Packaged: 2021-03-13 17:15:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 317
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29904420
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wooahae/pseuds/wooahae
Summary: It all seemed like a dream.





	Unrest

It all seemed like a dream.

Jihoon knew what this was, knew what was happening but was absolutely powerless to stop it.

His soul was tired. The phenomenon was unexplainable. It was one of those few times where he was actually well-rested and well fed but something felt off.

His body was an empty shell, his mind too tired to untangle the mess in his brain.

As though he could even feel the mess anymore though. He was tired of deciphering whatever the fuck was going on up there, always trying to make sense of his thoughts.

Sometimes he just wanted to lay down for a few days just to rest his soul but the world does not wait for anyone.

He felt the urge to create but he didn’t know what. He strummed a few strings of his guitar but it didn’t feel right. Tapping a few keys of his keyboard let out a nonsensical melody he could not make head nor tail out of.

Glancing at the clock, he noted it was close to midnight. He stared back down at his keyboard in frustration. He had a deadline in seven hours.

Yet, sitting there in his partially lit room, he felt nothing. No sense of urgency, no sense of purpose. Trying to motivate himself, he tried to think about his ‘why’ like all the self help blogs had said to do: Why did he make music? Why had he chosen to follow producing?

It worked to an extent, his urge to create becoming stronger, but it seemed like his motor skills were a lost cause.

Everything felt like a dream; him moving through the motions on autopilot.

He hated it. He wanted it to stop. He wanted to do what he did best: create.

But his soul was tired.

His soul was tired and he didn’t know how to rest it.

It was a nightmare.


End file.
